


Corporate Dragons

by pinkfire



Category: NCT (Band), WayV (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Anal Sex, Blackmail, Blow Jobs, Corruption, Drug Dealing, Drunk Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, I’m going to hell, Like really really drunk, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Porn With Plot, Self-Indulgent, Unconscious Sex, filth filth filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25027981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkfire/pseuds/pinkfire
Summary: He has the upper hand. He has incriminating information on an expensive man. This is an opportunity, if anything.(1920s Xiaodery AU)
Relationships: Wong Kun Hang | Hendery/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Comments: 15
Kudos: 204





	Corporate Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE read the tags!!! This is basically just unnecessary filth and 1920s obsession I word vomited into my notes.

Corporate dragons. Untouchable. Inhumane. Dangerous. They rest on piles of currency, digging their greedy claws into the flesh of anyone who tries to take a single coin, not letting up until every last drop of blood is drained onto the earnings of their company. Their spot was obtained for one reason. Their wings take them to the top, and if there’s an advantage, they use it without a single lick of guilt. Success on earth means burning in hell when it’s all over. 

He badmouths them, incessantly so, but Hendery would most likely take a steak knife or two to his arm just to live in their polished shoes for a day. To sit on their leather thrones, see extravagant parties, do what he wants when he wants. Jealousy isn’t a good look on him, so he plays it off as resentment. The degrading words are leaving his lips as he makes eye-contact with one of the dragons across the speakeasy. Toxic yellow pools with thin black slits cutting through the middle, narrowing at Hendery. While his eyes aren’t actually yellow(they’re an alluring dark brown), they might as well be. They’re just as hair-raising. 

The eyes belong to Xiao Dejun, the youngest economy titan in the country. He’s responsible for the shiny, motorized vehicles that putter about the roads, flaunting wealth and mainstreaming capitalism that much more. The Xiao Model is nearly the only one you’ll see, cars all built the same, a hilarious display of conformity when lined up on the stone streets. They’re spat out like dragons’ fire, one vehicle after another rolling from the factory. Hendery would know. He spends hours and hours a day, only bolting the left rear tire to each car. There are plenty of workers with specialized jobs just like his, so it’s a surprise that Mr. Xiao seems to recognize him, eyes harsh and unmoving. 

That’s right, a big expensive boy like Dejun would be socially slaughtered for showing up at a speakeasy, drinking liquor and laughing over cards with a random group of lowlifes. He sucks in a breath, pulling chemicals from the cigar perched between his lips, then exhales, breathing a thick, white cloud of smoke that billows past his nose and vanishes in the dark, hazy air. Anyone who reads fairytale books would know that breathing fire is a dragon’s threat. 

“Speak of the devil,” Hendery grumbles against the lip of his glass, breaking eye-contact to throw back a gulp of liquor and wince at the taste. He’s never liked the taste of liquor, or any alcoholic beverage for that matter. Drinking is just a thing people do, socially. Since it’s illegal, it just feels thrilling to partake in alcohol consumption, even without the room swirling. 

“Your boss is here?” Yangyang’s dealing cards, flicking them onto the table one by one. Hendery, Lucas, Kun. 

They aren’t gambling, unlike Dejun and the gentlemen at his table. They play for fun. Otherwise, all they’d be willing to bet are a couple of dimes and their own shoelaces. 

Hendery’s hand consists of a two of hearts and a three of spades. Crap. He sucks his tongue against his teeth. “Sure is.” 

“Not surprised,” Lucas comments, smirking behind his queen and king of diamonds. “Money and crime go hand in hand. I’m gonna hit.” Yangyang deals Lucas another card, a four of hearts. “Fuck,” he grumbles. “Bust.” 

They play a few rounds of Blackjack, all ending in busts. It’s a good thing they’re smart enough not to waste money on gambling, since their card game skills are beyond lacking. They’re about to start up another, Kun getting antsy to prove that he’s luckier than Lucas, but Hendery clears his throat and pushes his chair back. “Getting some fresh air,” he declares. The speakeasy is terribly polluted with tobacco, lacking good ventilation. His lungs are starting to burn. 

Shrugging his heavy beige coat on, Hendery squeezes past a few skimpy workers and drunken men, out the inconspicuous wooden door, and into the night. The shift in temperature is noticeable, winter air brushing through his hair and rushing into the heat of lit cigars and closely packed bodies. His lungs are instantly relieved by the fresher air. 

It would be a little suspicious to loiter just outside the speakeasy door, so Hendery pockets his cold fingers and starts walking down the block. His breath escapes in white puffs similar to the “dragon’s breath” he calls economists’ cigar smoke. That’s the closest he’ll get to relating with the upper class. 

As he’s nearing the general store at the end of the block, he hears voices reverberating off the brick walls of a wide alleyway. This is nothing mysterious or scary, since it’s typical for escorts and drug dealers to make business in these dark hiding places on the rough side of town. What’s more than typical in this situation, is the familiar tone. Hendery knows where he’s heard this. It matches up with the various shouts of “get back to work, dewdropper” and “step it up or get the fuck out” that he’s heard during work. Xiao Dejun. Probably about to bend an escort over and do a number on her. 

Out of sheer curiosity, Hendery peeks down the glistening pavement of the alleyway, up to what’s happening in the flickering yellow light of a gas lamp bolted near a back door. Of the two things that typically happen in alleyways, Hendery expected to see prostitution in action, but it turns out that it’s drugs this time. It’s definitely Dejun, gunmetal hair glinting in the yellowish light, almost upstaging the silver of a pistol in his hand, barrel pointed right at the head of another man. The man is carrying tied butcher paper packages, a white, powdery substance leaking from the worn corners and coating his gloved hands, from one vehicle to Dejun’s shinier Xiao ‘21. That’s drug-related business if Hendery’s ever seen it. Probably the worst one on the streets, too. Cocaine. 

Hendery isn’t that shocked, really. He should’ve suspected that Dejun has side-cash filling his pockets, since he’s so young, successful, and good-looking. No one who plays by the rules gets all three of those. 

He realizes he’s overdone his stay once Mr. Xiao’s eyes lock onto his, almost glowing against the gas lantern. The gun twitches in his hand, like he’s considering switching targets. Thankfully, he doesn’t. Hendery scrambles to disappear behind the wall and make brisk steps back toward the speakeasy. 

He’s out of breath once he plops into the wooden chair, interrupting a heated game of cards. His heavy huffs and puffs of tobacco and body heat defeat the purpose of getting fresh air in the first place. His hair is tousled from playing with the wind, and he hasn’t bothered to take his coat off yet. 

“Were you getting fresh air or going for a run?” Kun says, eyeing the cold burn across Hendery’s cheeks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, too.” 

“Sometimes you just see stuff you shouldn’t have.” Hendery shrugs. 

“Must’ve seen some necking,” Yangyang snickers, collecting the cards from the table and shuffling them against his thigh. 

“Could say that.” 

Hendery sure doesn’t want to show his face at work tomorrow. 

Hendery’s been a little on edge since the start of his shift at the crack of dawn. Dejun isn’t here yet, just his supervisor, Mr. Seo. He hopes that he’s just hungover and won’t show up. There are plenty of days that Mr. Xiao doesn’t even set foot into the factory or his office. If he weren’t tight on money, Hendery would’ve called in sick, but he has to catch up on the cash he lost on liquor last night. It took a lot of energy to get out of bed, drink some water to tame his hangover headache, and drag his ass to work, messy hair, wrinkled shirt, and all. 

He simply doesn’t want to know what threats—or knives—Dejun will throw his way for knowing more than he should. Dragons are cold-blooded, after all. 

Maybe he should take up his cousin’s offer for a job at the newspaper stand. No drug-dealing bosses there. 

“Why do you keep lookin’ at the door?” Sicheng asks, jutting his lip out and huffing to make his bangs fly into the air and out of his eyes. He has to raise his voice to project it over the clattering, drilling, and clinking throughout the factory. Hendery turns for a second, shrugging and watching a bead of sweat trickle from his coworker’s sideburn. They’re both pumping wrenches right now, bolting tires tight onto the shiny black Xiao Model in front of them. 

“Waiting for someone to rescue me from this hell.” 

“You and me both,” Sicheng sighs, patting the rubber of the tire out of habit once he’s done his part. “Focus, boss man’s on his way over.” 

Fuck. Hendery realizes his wrench working has faltered and picks up the pace, metal slipping against his sweaty palms. Sicheng, who’s wiping his hands off on his handkerchief, almost laughs at Hendery’s skittish behavior. 

He feels a palm against his shoulder, sees the sparkle of an expensive ring in his peripheral, and hears Dejun’s voice, stern over the noisy factory ambiance. “Mr. Wong, Renjun here is going to take over for you. I’d like to see you in my office.” 

Hendery presses his teeth together, muscles bulging in his jaw as he shoots Sicheng a distressed look. Sicheng simply shrugs, looking elsewhere and pretending to be occupied with checking up on the tire. This is probably the end, Hendery thinks. He’s going to get his brains blown out in his boss’s office, stuffed into a wooden chest, and thrown into a canal. His wrench clatters against concrete as he lets it slip through his clammy fingers. “Yes, sir,” he says, voice a higher pitch than usual. 

He stands from his wobbly stool, gives the young boy taking a his place a polite nod, and scurries to flank Mr. Xiao. Dejun’s steps are loud, reverberating off metal trusses and smooth concrete floors, sturdy shoes hitting the ground with more force than necessary, and Hendery’s noticed a pattern by now. When Dejun is pissed, he walks louder. It’s his way of saying “everyone look at me, look how fucking angry you all made me.” Either that, or it’s just an animalistic habit, like he has to take his aggression out on the floor beneath his feet before he takes it out on flesh and blood. Not that he really sees a difference between the two. 

The walk to his office is wordless, Hendery nervously tugging at the elastic of his suspenders, eyes on his feet to avoid his coworkers’ nosy glares. They’ll be on his ass with questions later. 

Keys jingle on their metal ring as Dejun shoves one into his office door and turns it. Surprisingly, he’s kind enough to hold the heavy mahogany open for Hendery. His white knuckles against the brass of the doorknob don’t go unnoticed. 

Usually, Hendery is on his best behavior. He only gets scolded for slacking or chatting with Sicheng, never brought to Dejun’s office to have a talk. It’s just what you would expect, fancy wallpaper, leather chair sat behind a paper-cluttered desk, the smell of tobacco clinging to the furniture and carpet. It’s very dim, only a simple chandelier providing light, since thick curtains are drawn over the windows. 

He flinches at the loud bang of Dejun closing the door, feels cold sweat roll down his back at the sound of him locking it. 

“Pretty sure you know what I want to talk about,” Dejun starts, slipping between his desk and chair to take a seat, settling his chin on his fist. “I’m afraid you saw something you shouldn’t have.” If there’s anything scarier than a dragon, it’s a dragon in its den. No one to stop it. It knows how to corner you there. Dragon metaphors aside, Dejun is effortlessly intimidating. His brow is stern and thick, dark irises burning with the forever unfulfilled desire for power, hair gelled back just the way goons do it. 

“I won’t say a thing.” 

“Mhm. If you do, you’ll lose that job of yours. Afraid I don’t want any blood on my hands, so don’t go thinking I’ll kill you, or anything like that.” 

Wait. So Dejun _isn’t_ willing to kill him. He’s a dragon without teeth. If that’s so, shouldn’t Hendery be blackmailing him right now? His posture straightens as it sinks in. _He_ has the upper hand. He has incriminating information on an expensive man. This is an opportunity, if anything. “Actually, I want something in return. I have another job waiting for me, so. You’ll have to give me something to keep my mouth shut.” 

“Pardon me?” Dejun’s eyes are narrowed. Hendery can almost see the steam shooting out of his nostrils. 

“Do me a favor, or I’ll blab.” 

“Aren’t you bold? What the hell do you want from me?” 

“Take me to an exclusive party, and buy me a new suit to wear to it.” Hendery doesn’t exactly have his priorities straight. He simply wants to know what it’s like to live lavish, but wouldn’t be up for the commitment of becoming a cold-blooded, money-hungry bastard. Just one night. This is an opportunity to be on top of the world for one night. 

Dejun rolls his eyes, mumbles at a volume Hendery can barely hear, “I swear my employees are brainless.” But it’s an easy enough task, so it won’t drive him to consider murder. “Simple enough. You have my word. There’ll be a party this Friday at Ten’s mansion. Is that what you want?” 

If Dejun is talking about _the_ Ten, jazz sensation and Hollywood star, then that’s definitely what Hendery wants. He’s heard that Ten’s parties are the craziest, most extravagant parties in the country. “Yes, sir,” Hendery says, obviously pleased with himself, lips stretching into a smug grin.

“Don’t act so... weird,” Dejun huffs, giving Hendery a sideways glance from his spot behind the driver’s seat. He has a chauffeur, of course, a man who hasn’t spoken a single word the entire drive. The vehicle is still Dejun’s, the same one he loaded pounds and pounds of cocaine into just a few days ago. Hendery can see some white powder dusted over the floor of the car. “It’s just a party. They throw these at least twice a week. The idiots would celebrate the opening of an envelope.” 

Hendery can’t see how he’s acting weird. He’s simply excited, knee bouncing and shaking the car. It’s not like he has the opportunity to walk into a huge mansion and rub elbows with celebrities and politicians every week, like it’s a casual thing. That’s probably how Dejun sees it. Casual. 

He’d also say he looks dashing tonight, wearing a tailored, navy blue, pinstripe suit, his hair tamed with product, framing his face in neat waves. He might get the opportunity to rail a Hollywood actress. Dejun was even kind enough to buy him a new coat. He’d given Hendery a look of disgust when he tried to top an expensive suit with his worn, cheap outerwear. Maybe he just wanted to avoid embarrassment at the party, but that’s fine. Hendery got a new coat out of it. 

“Yeah, but I’ve never been to one.” 

“It isn’t all that,” Dejun grumbles. 

Hendery can already see Ten’s massive mansion towering over the treetops, lights coming from every window, a beacon of extravagance and over-the-top wealth. It emits a glow that makes the stars in the sky vanish. Most would call that light pollution, but all he sees is success. You can’t shine without stealing a few stars from the sky. As they get closer, he can already sense the rowdy atmosphere. “Isn’t all that, huh? This is the biggest building I’ve ever laid eyes on.” 

Dejun laughs, and it’s a condescending, lofty sound. He’s wearing a smirk as he pulls a cigar out and lights it, sneaking a quick smoke in before their arrival. 

“What? Not everyone is a rich boy, Mr. Xiao.” 

“I know,” Dejun says, then pulls a quick drag from his cigar, rolls the window down to let the smoke billow into the night. “Trust me. I wasn’t born rich. But even before I had this kind of money, I was never impressed by things like this. You’re quite interested in the material things, aren’t you?” 

“Well, yes. That’s just human nature.” 

“I’m not. I’m simply interested in pushing people around, having them on their knees with a snap of my fingers. I guess money does that, but it isn’t difficult to get where I am these days. Just break some rules, have the right mindset, and you’re in.” 

He thought Dejun was a crazy, power hungry man, but hearing about his mindset almost makes it seem _human_. After being on the receiving end of orders, commands, get this, and do that, Hendery thinks it would be nice to have power. On top of money, of course. He would never say it aloud, but he can get behind Dejun’s mindset. He definitely can. 

“I’m not for corruption.” 

Dejun chuckles, takes one last drag from his cigar, and carelessly flicks it out the window. “You’re already blackmailing your boss, aren’t you? I didn’t expect you to have the gall for that. You’re made for it, so the sooner you stop playing innocent, the sooner you’ll have what you want.” 

“What’s it matter to you? It doesn’t count if I take advantage of a snake like yourself,” Hendery mutters, arms folded over his chest. Dejun has a lot of nerve tonight. This is a side of him that Hendery hasn’t seen. He’s less a scary, untouchable, flame breathing dragon, and more a little one, biting at Hendery’s ankles and tugging at his pant legs. 

“You’re only proving my point, doll.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

Dejun snickers. “Fragile masculinity, huh? We’re here.” He opens the car door, and the sounds of music and excited(or drunk) chatter remind Hendery that he’s about to set foot into a mansion, with the elites. 

Hendery looks like a lost duckling, following behind Dejun and standing by awkwardly while he greets a few people. A politician. An actress. Probably a mafia boss. “Lighten up, they can smell fear,” Dejun jests, grabbing Hendery’s shoulder and dragging him into the wide entrance of Ten’s mansion. It instantly takes Hendery’s breath away. Glossy, intricately designed tiles are hidden by the polished dress shoes and glittering heels of elites. The ornate, marble and jade ceiling stretches far over Hendery’s head, suspending blinding chandeliers, letting the cool breeze from the night flow through the room, keeping the mass of expensive bodies from breaking a sweat. Even the smell is lavish, a mix of pricy liquors and pleasantly strong perfumes.

His eyes, sparkling with wonder, are drawn to the man in front of him once Dejun taps his shoulder. A blond in a simple suit, wearing a plethora of colorful rings and holding a designer cane that he definitely doesn’t need, flashes perfect rows of teeth up at Hendery. He recognizes the smile from glossy vinyl disc covers. This is the host of the party, Ten. 

“He’s a friend of mine from Rhode Island,” Dejun lies, a natural in his habitat with a charming smile. “His name is Hendery.” 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Ten. Any friend of Dejun here is a friend of mine,” Ten greets, extending a hand toward Hendery. He takes it, with a goofy, dazed look on his face, making the bracelets on Ten’s wrist jingle when he shakes his hand. “Enjoy the party, gentlemen.” 

Dejun whisks Hendery away, laughing at his dumb expression. “You must’ve already had some to drink.” Well, he hasn’t, but the scene of this party is a lot to take in all at once. There’s a pair of gloved hands taking his coat off, the same for Dejun, and a waiter is already shoving a flute of sparkling, yellowish liquid against his palm. 

“No. This is crazy.” 

“Well, I’m going to release you into the wild. Have fun.” Before Hendery can protest, Dejun is already disappearing into the crowd, laughing with a group of expensive-looking men. 

It takes a few minutes of hovering by the wall, enduring weird looks from waiters, nursing his flute of champagne, but Hendery eventually works himself up enough to dive into the crowd. Everyone else is dancing, so he urges his limbs to move. He’s danced before, but he’s definitely no match for the girls twirling around him, tassels brushing against his arms. The scene has a certain energy to it. It’s one of those moments where you think “life is a rush,” your heart pangs in your chest, and you get all giggly. He doesn’t even need the buzz of alcohol to feel drunk on his surroundings. Loud, high quality music rings in his ears, and before he knows it, a pretty girl is twirling into his arms, yelling over the party ambiance. “I haven’t seen you before, handsome.” 

She’s petite, with wide eyes and wavy hair gelled and pinned into a tight updo. There are jewels and flowers littering her outfit and hairstyle, light makeup sparkling on her cheeks. He recognizes her from the silver screen. Song Yuqi, the actress he had a little celebrity crush on for a while. 

Hendery smiles and takes her hand, twirling her to inconspicuously take a peek at her backside. “I’m here with Xiao Dejun. Name’s Hendery.” 

“Mind if I claim you for the evening?” 

“Not at all.” 

A couple hours into the party, Hendery is still chatting with Yuqi. They’ve gotten exhausted from dancing and made their way to a balcony, the one where gruff businessmen aren’t all smoking cigars. Stars struggle against the light of Ten’s mansion, even in the distance, twinkling weakly above the black tree-line. It’s a beautiful view. 

“This is my first time at a party like this,” Hendery admits. He’s leaning against the stone railing of the balcony, letting the wind try to move his product-infested hair.

“Is that so? You’re a natural, then. I’m charmed.” 

“You flatter me.” 

Yuqi gets closer, heels clacking against smooth stone. She places a hand on Hendery’s shoulder. “I’m gonna kiss you, now.” 

Laughing nervously, Hendery nods and closes his eyes. He’s honestly never kissed a woman. His mother taught him to save that for marriage, and he doesn’t really care anymore, the behavior of respecting women just stuck. Before Yuqi’s lips meet his, he feels a pair of arms, decidedly male, looping around his neck. “There y’ are, you little shit. I’ve been,” he interrupts himself with a hiccup. “Looking for you.” 

He opens his eyes to see Yuqi giggling and Dejun swaying, his complexion peaked and cheeks flushed. He’s half-seas over, meaning he’s had quite a bit to drink in the past few hours. 

Hendery pries Dejun’s arms off of his neck, giving him a harsh glare. “What do you want?” 

“I’m gonna leave you to that.” Yuqi yawns, stretches her arms toward the sky, adjusts her dress. “I’m getting tired.” She gives Hendery a smile before walking off. Her hips are swaying and her dress is glittering in the moonlight. So much for that opportunity. 

“Wanted to see if you’re having a good time,” Dejun says. 

“I _was_ having a good time, until you came over here.” Hendery has his arms crossed again, hands balled into fists. He tends to pout like a toddler, dour expression pulling his lips into a tight line. Dejun is really an ankle-biter today. 

“Aw, did my little Hendery want a kiss?” Dejun teases, making smooching noises near Hendery’s ear. “These Hollywood girls aren’t worth it, dumbass.” It feels like Dejun is just trying to push Hendery over the edge. After years of barking commands and insulting Hendery’s work ethic, he’s acting like he can just pretend to be Hendery’s friend, step on his tail. He’s gotten way too comfortable with him, and this isn’t the way it should be. Hendery has dirt on Dejun. He should be licking Hendery’s shoes right now. This is where he draws the line.

“Shut up!” Hendery demands, grabbing a handful of Dejun’s silver hair and tugging him closer. “I can end your fucking career whenever I want. Behave, you son of a bitch.” 

Dejun winces, clumsily standing on his toes to reduce the tug on his hair. “Look at you. You’re just like me,” he drunkenly giggles. “So mean.” Either Dejun is way too drunk, or he’s just stupid. The former is absolutely true. He thinks this is a game. 

Hendery takes a deep breath in through his nose and looks around. Sure enough, there are plenty of eyes on him, nosy. So he walks back inside, dragging Dejun by the hair and ignoring the whines of protest. He finds a long hallway, carpeted and thin. Logically, this would contain guest rooms. After a handful of doors, all of which were either locked or had a “busy” couple behind them, he finds an empty room and shoves Dejun inside, letting him stumble to the hardwood floor and let out a pathetic cry. 

“Let me explain something to you, Mr. Xiao.” Hendery starts through clenched teeth, slamming the door shut so hard that a gust of air tugs on his suit jacket. “I have your entire reputation in my hands. Either treat me like a damn god or expect to be thrown into the slammer. Do you get that, you drunk little fuck?” 

Dejun nods, sitting up with his palms splayed over the floor in front of him. He’s still swaying, head down and arms quivering. From the looks of it, his world is spinning right now. 

Hendery kneels in front of him, holding his chin up. “Jesus Christ. How much did you drink?” 

“Ten, eleven,” Dejun mumbles, eyes heavy-lidded. “I don’t know, twelve shots? I lost count.” 

“Ridiculous.” Hendery lets Dejun’s chin go, watches as his neck gives in and his head dangles between his arms. “You’re insufferable.” 

“It was just a stupid kiss, yeah? C’mere and, let me... let me make it up to you. I have lips n’ all that.”

“Do I look gay to you, Dejun?” Hendery honestly couldn’t care less about gender, but he would never admit that in a society like this. Bedsides, Dejun is just muttering shitfaced nonsense, and he would never want to touch lips with his rude boss. He might be pretty, with sharp eyes and thick lashes, pink tinted lips, dainty fingers, but Hendery isn’t going to stoop to that. Just thinking about it, well, just thinking about it makes his dick start to chub in his slacks. But that’s just the hormones talking. 

An impish giggle bubbles past Dejun’s lips. “Yeah. Really, _really_ gay. Bet you wanna suck my dick.” 

Hendery lets out an exasperated sigh and steps close enough for Dejun to press his pale cheek against his shin. A slick sheen of cold sweat coats his skin, a deep flush spread over his cheekbones. He’s intoxicated, probably about to pass out. “You and I both know you’d be on your knees for me. Hell, you’re already there.” 

“Doesn’t count,” Dejun mumbles. 

This is a situation where Hendery could have complete control if he wanted to, his boss so shitfaced he can’t even stand, and Dejun’s really driving him up the wall. He’d like to pry his lips open and fuck the stupid drunk comments out of his throat, but that would be _wrong_. Dejun isn’t even sober enough to consent. 

But, Dejun’s a cold-blooded beast. He sells life-ruining drugs for his own benefit, holds guns to people’s heads. He deserves it. Besides, he’s been pushing Hendery to act like him, to just break some rules. Or laws. If that’s what he wants, then. 

Hendery smirks at the thought, running his fingers down Dejun’s silky gunmetal hair, gently tugging back to make him look up. He’s dizzy, body trying to tip over just from the small movement, but Hendery tightens his grasp to keep him from falling. “I might just have to make it count, _doll._ ” 

Dejun’s eyes flit toward Hendery’s crotch, and he swears he can see his pretty pink tongue dart between his lips. He lets out a shaky breath. “What do you m-mean?” 

With an intense, devilish glint in his eye, Hendery tugs his belt out of its buckle, undoes the golden button of his slacks, lazily pushes them down his thighs along with his undergarment. His cock, already half-hard and pink, nudges at Dejun’s cheek. 

“I’m not sucking your dick.” 

“Hell you aren’t. I have the upper hand, remember? I can end you, darling.” Hendery cups Dejun’s cheek, forces his thumb between his set of lush, pink lips. He isn’t met with any resistance. Dejun is surprisingly pliant, subtly parting his lips and huffing a hot, shaky breath against Hendery’s thumb. 

“You’re sick in the head.” The digit in his mouth adds a lisp to his already slurred speech. 

“So are you,” Hendery hums, rubbing his thumb in circles over Dejun’s wet, soft tongue. He uses his other hand to stroke his cock, rubbing it to full hardness as Dejun stares, eyes crossed and lips suctioning onto Hendery’s thumb. After a few gentle sucks, Hendery can feel the sharp ridges of Dejun’s teeth digging into his flesh. 

He pulls his thumb out and smacks Dejun on the side of the head, making his neatly styled hair lopsided across his forehead, pulling a pained whimper from his throat and almost making him topple to the floor, off-balance. “No biting, feral bitch.” 

“Sorry,” Dejun whispers, brushing Hendery’s hand away and running tentative fingers down the underside of his cock. It twitches at the faint touch. “I’ll be so good for you.” His delicate fingers find their way around the base, middle finger barely reaching his thumb because of the thick girth. He gulps, making his Adam’s apple jump up his throat, biting his lip and rubbing the sensitive, pink flesh of Hendery’s cock with a shaky thumb. Hendery sighs with pleasure, hooking his finger behind the ridge of Dejun’s teeth, dragging his lower lip down. “Hend-dery,” Dejun whimpers. “I _can’t_. You’re so big.” 

The sight of such a powerful man holding Hendery’s cock, hand shaking because of the mere size of it, has his skin burning up, desire pulsing hot through his veins. He’s already leaking precum, and god, he wants Dejun’s mouth on him right now. “You’re fine.” He holds Dejun’s jaw, the hair on the back of his head, and forces his mouth open as far as it can go. It makes Dejun whine, tongue languidly falling over his lower lip. He looks like the essence of sin, already dizzy and flushed from alcohol, letting drool slide off the tip of his tongue in a lewd, glistening strand. 

Grip still tight on Dejun’s jaw, Hendery slides into the pliant heat of his mouth, breath hitching at the hot contact. He urges his hips forward until the swollen head of his cock pushes against the back of Dejun’s throat, stretching the delicate flesh and making him cry out, squeezing the base of Hendery’s dick. 

Dejun’s breathing comes out as a series of fast, loud huffs through his nose. His eyes are squeezed shut, glistening at the corners with tears. But he’s doing _good_. Lips stretched taut around his cock, jaw slack to avoid scraping it with his teeth, tongue swirling lazy patterns against throbbing skin. 

“Holy shit,” Hendery breathes out, winded by the pleasure that constricts his lungs. It’s like the air is being sucked out of him, the expanse of his belly pulled tight. “So good. How are you s-so good?” Maybe Dejun is just mediocre at best. He is intoxicated after all, hell, he barely looks conscious right now. Hendery just hasn’t received oral before, and Dejun’s tiny mouth is heaven around his thick and heavy dick. 

Dejun makes a strained, noncommittal noise, almost a high-pitched grunt, and he pulls his head back, until the ridge of Hendery’s tip catches his lips, then dives in again, moaning like he enjoys the feeling of his mouth being stretched around cock. He does it again, and again, eliciting deep groans from Hendery’s throat each time. Then he’s speeding up, wet whimpers vibrating against Hendery every time the tip hits the back of his throat. His hand starts pumping him in rhythm with his lips, and Hendery doesn’t even care that his expensive golden rings are dragging over his cock. If anything, they add to the sensation. It’s unbearable. 

Wet, sloppy noises are filling the room, drowning out the loud banter and music that seep through the walls. Dejun just looks so pretty, tears rolling down his cheeks and running the length of his neck, lips red, glistening, and swollen, spit and precum making a mess of his chin. He’s doing this to his boss, one of the most powerful men in New York, a man that makes people shiver with a single glance. Hendery has his dick in _Xiao Dejun’s_ mouth. Yeah, Hendery’s a goner. He’s going to spill over the edge any minute now. 

“Fuck, Dejun, god. _Shit_ ,” he practically yells, rutting his hips forward and making Dejun sob, tears gushing from the corners of his eyes. “I’m gonna bust. Holy fuck I’m close.” 

Dejun stops, and Hendery wants to smack the everliving hell out of his pretty face, until he digs his fingernails into the flesh of Hendery’s thigh, pushing himself forward until the head of his cock starts to sink down the tight cavern of his throat. The squeeze is almost painful. It makes Hendery’s head spin, his eyes crossing and uncrossing, jaw falling slack. “Oh,” he moans, curling his hands into fists of Dejun’s suit jacket. Dejun’s nose is pressed against the thick patch of hair above the base of his dick, his throat flexing and contracting against him, and this shouldn’t even fucking be possible but Dejun is deepthroating him, tugging gently at his balls and pulling his thigh forward, urging him to start thrusting. So he does, rolling his hips into Dejun’s face, biting his lip hard and letting his toes curl in his dress shoes. 

Hot pleasure shoots down the length of Hendery’s cock, and he babbles a string of profanities as thick spurts of cum jet down Dejun’s throat. The force of his orgasm makes the edges of his vision darken and swirl, his senses overcome with sticky sweet pleasure, legs going weak and thighs trembling as he rides his high. 

When Dejun pulls off with a loud, wet, pop, he instantly collapses into an exhausted heap on the floor, coughing and sputtering a filthy mix of spit and sticky, white cum onto the polished hardwood. He closes his eyes and pants heavily, shaky fingers lazily playing with the cum on his lips. If Hendery didn’t know any better, he would say Dejun is enjoying this, sucking at his fingers and sounding strained hums. No, he’s just drunk. No one in their right mind would pull all of that sober. Drunk people just don’t feel pain, but Hendery’s positive Dejun will feel _that_ in the morning. 

“Damn,” Hendery huffs, using the back of his hand to wipe sweat from his forehead. “You’re unreal.” He grabs his pants and hikes them back up his legs, buttons them up and fastens his belt. 

Dejun opens his wet eyes to look up at Hendery, pupils so blown that he can’t tell where they end and his irises start, and he giggles. It’s a weak, raspy giggle, but Hendery is shocked at Dejun’s elasticity. “I’m real,” he says, voice wet and scratchy. He lets his head loll back against the floor, arches his body and whines, and Hendery is pretty positive that Dejun is about to faint, but he clumsily palms at himself, breath hitching. 

Hendery can’t help but let out a winded, nervous laugh. “Wow, you’re a slut, aren’t you? Look at you. Couldn’t even wait until I left to fuck yourself.” 

Dejun has his fingers creeping into his waistband now, but they stop under the tightness of his belt. “Don’t leave,” he groans, restlessly tugging at his belt. He can’t seem to remember how to work the thing. “Get me off.” 

“Dejun, you’re drunk.” 

“Wh-whatever,” he whines, weakly sitting up and trying to push his pants down, to no avail. “You already took advantage of me. Go big or g-go home.” 

“I didn’t...” Hendery sighs, rubs his face in disbelief. Now, he feels obligated to get Dejun off. “Get on the bed.”

“Help.” 

God, Dejun is useless right now. Hendery grumbles some nonsense and hooks his arms under Dejun’s armpits, helping him onto the bed. He spreads his legs and stands between them, starting to unbuckle his belt and undress him. Dejun sways a bit, eyes swirling in their sockets, then he falls back, listless and pale. He looks dead. “Dejun?” Hendery pats his cheek, and Dejun stirs with a soft whine.

“I’m fine,” he claims, letting Hendery pull his jacket off and unbutton his shirt. 

Hendery rolls his eyes and takes the dress shirt off of an uncooperative, sleepy Dejun. Once he rids him of all of his clothes, Hendery starts to fill out in his slacks again. After an orgasm like that, he didn’t think that to be possible. That must be the power of Mr. Xiao. He’s honestly gorgeous, even with pale, sweat-slick skin, he’s glowing. His thick eyelashes rest over high cheekbones, delicate, wrecked lips parted, pretty little dick dark pink and rock-hard against his stomach. His figure is petite, delicate, almost feminine. 

“Jesus,” Hendery marvels, ghosting his fingers over the taut, flat plane of his abdomen, teasing at the erect peaks of his nipples. Dejun bites his lip and squirms at the touches. “You’d be better off selling your body than selling drugs, baby.” Hendery rubs the silky skin of Dejun’s inner thighs, brushes his fingers over his cock, making him sigh and roll his hips. He doesn’t respond, so Hendery assumes that his ears are ringing right about now. 

He sucks his fingers into his own mouth, wets them up, and presses one against Dejun’s entrance. It’s pretty and pink, puckered tight even as Hendery spreads his asscheeks with his thumb and forefinger. It flinches, clenching tighter around itself, and Dejun closes his thighs around Hendery’s hips. “Wait, I’m a virgin, don’t—“ 

But Hendery’s already shoving his middle finger into Dejun’s tight hole, making him gasp and flinch, grabbing at the sheets and exhaling on a soft “oh.” Hendery wets his lips and starts up a pace, the knuckles of his finger tugging at Dejun’s rim each time he pulls out. He can’t help but stare at the way the pretty muscle grips at his fingers, soaking in Dejun’s whines. He eventually stops to rub his finger over Dejun’s soft walls, searching for the hard bundle of nerves, and it’s obvious when he finds it, Dejun jolting and moaning, back arched off the bed. “Hendery, _please_. Ah, do it again.” 

He complies, rubbing his finger in circles, passing over his prostate with each round. Dejun is reeling, eyebrows furrowed and and eyes shut, whimpers spilling with each breath. Hendery starts to shove his index finger in with the other, meeting an unbelievable amount of resistance. “Hurts,” Dejun groans, pulling his hips away from Hendery’s touch. 

“Shh, it’ll get better,” Hendery soothes, leaning down to feather kisses over Dejun’s soft clavicle. Dejun’s arms drape over his shoulders, weak and trembling. Both fingers are in now, and Hendery is pumping them in and out. He’s fully hard again. There’s nothing he wants more than to fuck the shit out of his boss right now. 

Once the third finger is in, Dejun is silent, chest heaving with rough pants, eyebrows scrunched together and lip caught under his pearly teeth. He’s still so breathtaking, and before Hendery knows it, he’s leaning in and licking over Dejun’s mouth, slotting their lips together and feeling Dejun release his lower lip, relaxing and becoming pliant for Hendery’s tongue. He tastes bitter from liquor and cum, but his mouth is just so hot and slick, Hendery can’t get enough. 

He starts to get impatient and pulls his own suit jacket and shirt off, discarding the expensive apparel somewhere on the floor. Dejun whines at the sudden emptiness, grabbing at Hendery’s hips. “I know, baby. Wait.” For the second time tonight, he undoes his belt, then he steps out of his dress shoes and pulls his pants and boxers off all the way. 

“What are y-you doing? Hendery, you won’t fit. You won’t _fit_ ,” Dejun protests, trying to push Hendery away with heavy limbs. 

“Calm down.” Hendery pins Dejun’s hands above his head, nudges his thigh up with his knee. “I’ll be gentle.” He lets his hands trail down Dejun’s arms, over his ribs and abdomen, down the v of his hips, cupping them over his ass and kneading the soft flesh. 

“Please,” Dejun whispers, digging his nails into Hendery’s back. He isn’t sure what he’s begging for, if he wants him to stop or go, but Hendery is dying to feel him. Spreading Dejun’s asscheeks apart, he presses the head of his cock against his hole, experimentally pushing forward and furrowing his brow in concentration, letting saliva collect behind his lips to spit onto his dick and slick it up. He puts a little more force into it, wedging the tip past Dejun’s rim. The squeeze is breathtaking, making Hendery’s cock pulse hard against the tight muscle. “Fuck,” Dejun chokes out, raking his nails up Hendery’s back, leaving stinging red lines in their wake. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” Hendery says, rubbing circles into Dejun’s thigh. He takes a deep breath before slamming his hips forward, sheathing his dick and groaning at how fucking tight and hot Dejun is. Hendery thought his mouth was heaven, but this is ecstasy, cock twitching and throbbing inside the grip of Dejun’s heat. 

Dejun sobs and shakes, tears welling in his eyes as he draws blood with his nails. “Liar,” he rasps. “You s-said you’d be gentle. It hurts.” A tear rolls down his temple, dripping onto the comforter under him.

“Sorry, sorry, I just wanted to make it faster,” Hendery apologizes, sucking kisses to Dejun’s neck. He pulls out slowly before rocking his hips forward, making Dejun whine and throw his head back. “Good?” 

“So full,” Dejun slurs. His hole is fluttering and twitching against Hendery’s cock, and his own dick is leaking a strand of precum into his navel, so Hendery guesses it’s at least somewhat enjoyable. He starts pulling out and pushing back in, making Dejun’s limp, delicate body slide over the comforter with each thrust. Dejun looks fucked out already, all color flooded from his skin and into the red pigment across his cheeks, face glistening with a mixture of spit, sweat, and tears, hair disheveled and damp. He lets out these pathetic little sounds, somewhere between a sob and a moan, every time Hendery’s hips press against his ass. 

“You feel so good,” Hendery praises, pinching and tugging at Dejun’s nipple. 

Dejun babbles something incoherent, pressing his cheek against the mattress, letting his hands fall from Hendery’s back so he can ball the fabric of the blanket into his fists. He seems like he’s barely holding on to his consciousness, eyes rolling in their sockets, focusing and unfocusing, eyelids drooping. Hendery grabs the back of Dejun’s thigh and pushes it forward, tucking his knee against his shoulder to get a better angle. He rolls his hips up, and Dejun arches, fists turning white against the comforter as he lets out a weak screech. 

By the time Hendery sets up a fast pace, Dejun is curling his toes, moaning and crying nonsense. Hendery catches something like _big, harder, so good_. The noises only get more incoherent once Hendery wraps a fist around Dejun’s hard cock, flicking his wrist and tugging up and down. He’s not even sure if Dejun is speaking English anymore. He’s just mumbling a jumble of vowels and sobs, squirming against the mattress until he finally goes still, the only movement in his body being the restless rutting of his hips and twitching of the muscles in his thighs. Then a long spurt of cum coats his chest, some of it reaching up to his chin. He whines and his eyes roll back, fluttering shut before his entire body goes limp underneath Hendery. 

His orgasm is close, heavy in his gut, so he starts thrusting erratically into Dejun’s heat, digging his palms into the blanket beside Dejun’s head. “Ah, Dejun?” No answer. He’s passed out, his pale, listless body hiking up the bed with each of Hendery’s relentless thrusts. “Oh, f-fuck,” Hendery moans out, rutting hard into Dejun’s hole as he comes for the second time tonight, filling Dejun up with the last of his cum. 

He pulls out and rolls onto the bed next to Dejun, spent. “Mr. Xiao?” he tries again, shaking his body and trying to get him to wake up. When that doesn’t work, he puts a finger under Dejun’s nose to check if he’s breathing. Thank god he is. 

“Dammit, you little shit,” Hendery complains, pulling Dejun’s heavy, limp body into his lap and trying to force his arms through the sleeves of his shirt. It takes a lot more effort than he’d like to admit, but he eventually gets Dejun dressed and dresses himself. He has to lick his hand to slick Dejun’s frizzy sex hair down, takes his handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes the various forms of moisture off of his face. 

As he’s carrying him out of the party bridal style, a few of Dejun’s friends ask what happened, to which Hendery replies, “had too much to drink,” which technically isn’t a lie. 

He’s almost made it out when Dejun stirs in his arms, declaring rather loudly, “my ass _hurts_ ,” before whimpering and passing out again. Hendery purses his lips, looking at the ground to avoid the weird glances he gets. Once he retrieves their coats, he pats Dejun down to find his keys, thankfully finds his chauffeur leaning against his vehicle already. 

“He’s passed out drunk,” Hendery deadpans, giving the man a nod of thanks when he opens the door for him. 

The ride is much longer than it needs to be, since Dejun eventually wakes up and starts hurling every five minutes. So they have to stop multiple times. 

He’s still conscious(just barely) when they get to his mansion. Hendery has to hold him by the waist to keep him from stumbling into the hedges. 

Dejun finally speaks up when they get to his foyer, muttering an exasperated, “I’m drunk.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” 

“Sorry.” 

Well, Hendery probably, no, absolutely deserves this. He deserves this times one hundred. Never in a million years did he think he would be one of the dirty bastards who just can’t keep their dick in their slacks. But here we are. He took advantage of his much tinier, ridiculously drunk boss. If he weren’t holding an anvil over Mr. Xiao’s head, he would fear quite a hefty sexual assault charge. 

“It’s okay,” he mumbles, dragging Dejun to his bedroom and letting him crawl into bed. “Do you need anything?” 

“Altoids.” 

Hendery does give him Altoids, just to watch him puke again ten minutes later. 

Hendery wakes up in an uncomfortable silk pajama set, with Dejun curled against him, sleeping like a rock. He ended up staying the night just to make sure Dejun wasn’t going to die or anything. It’s the least he could do. 

It’s still pretty dim because of Mr. Xiao’s thick curtains. Maybe he isn’t a dragon, perhaps he’s just a vampire. He must be awake, since he sits up, stretching his arms in the air and wincing. “What happened last night?” 

Holy shit. Dejun doesn’t remember. Hendery feels a flood of relief sweep over him. “You passed out drunk, so I took you home,” he lies. 

“Hm,” Dejun looks at Hendery through sleepy, puffy eyes, lips pulled into a frown. “Get out.” 

“Pardon me?” 

“I said get out. Idiot. I don’t need my employees getting comfortable with me.” 

Hendery almost laughs, thinking about how comfortable he’d actually gotten with Dejun last night. “Okay, okay. Can I at least get a ride home?”

“Fine.” 

For the next week, things are a little awkward for Hendery. He can’t help but stare at Dejun when he makes his rounds, having to adjust his pants because of the boner he gets just from seeing him. He’s also very, _very_ guilty. He took advantage of Dejun and got away with it, meaning he’s the dirtiest kind of criminal. Sicheng picks up on Hendery’s weird moods, thankfully only making fun of him and not asking what the problem is. 

Then things go back to normal, like nothing even happened. It lasts for about two weeks. 

Then Dejun calls Hendery into his office. 

“I want to suck your dick again, you dirty bastard,” he exclaims, tugging Hendery close by the suspenders. 

Hendery’s eyes widen the size of saucers. “Again?” 

“I’m not stupid. I know what happened that night.” Dejun sinks to his knees, and the next thing Hendery knows, he’s getting another toe-curling blowjob from his boss. 


End file.
